Aim High
by AliceUnderSkies13
Summary: They learn to always aim high, but not in the way you'd expect. Human AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been spending way too much time playing The Walking Dead, and this is the result: a very strange RotBTD AU written at two in the morning. Because Jackunzel is even more adorable during a zombie apocalypse, right xD? Just some clarification: I use the term 'walker' in this fic like they do in The Walking Dead. **

**Anyways, tell me what you think and enjoy :). **

* * *

Jack finds her in the downtown apartment building. Top floor, last room at the end of the hall, barricaded behind the bathroom door. She clutches a frying pan.

The sound of water dripping from the showerhead.

Or is that blood dripping from the countertop?

A body on the floor. White tile smeared with red, black, and gray. She paints the bathroom with her muddy boots. But it's unintentional.

The paintings in her room, sunbursts, flowers, and faraway towers, those were meant for humans to see. She wants people to look at her creations, lie on her bed and stare at the skylight.

Well, she "wanted" people to. In the recent past, she had never wanted anything more.

But she lived alone, so no one ever laid beside her. Technically, she wasn't alone. Her mother lived in the next bedroom. They were two separate people. Two different paintings. If she was the mural on her wall, then her mother was the mess on the bathroom floor.

Because no one intentionally does this.

Death has painted its self-portrait on the tile.

And her mother is the outlying border. Huddled on the threshold between the bathroom and the hallway, her mother is dead.

She had dropped dead in the kitchen, a stroke. Then she had attacked her daughter.

Rapunzel didn't notice it at first. Her mother hurt her all the time. That's why she slept in the bathtub some nights, wrapping the shower curtain around her trembling body. That's why she painted pictures of a magical place. The tower on her wall was her freedom, but it was also her prison.

Even in her fantasy world, she wasn't free.

So when her dead mother lunged at her neck, she almost didn't think twice. Then she noticed the glassy eyes and the smell of rancid meat.

How odd, her mother was dead a few days before Rapunzel ever noticed. She had probably been too busy in her room, her hands stained with paint.

It came fast, the realization.

As reality hit her in the gut, she ran to the kitchen. Stumbling over fallen silverware, broken plates and chipped cups. The world tilted as a hand grabbed her ankle.

Mother never went for her ankles…she usually grabbed Rapunzel by the wrists and slammed her against the mirrored wall.

The mirrored walls were all shattered. The floor would have to do. She fell against the countertop. Sharp edges cut her forehead open. Blood splattered.

Sides of her vision broke into a dozen pieces. All colorful, like the paint on her walls. Circles of darkness grew out from the center of it all.

Darkness. Redness. Numbness as familiar fingernails dug into her skin.

Right into the round ankle bone.

Rapunzel reached for the glint of metal in the distance.

Distance, only a few feet in front of her. But in the tunnel of red and black, it felt so much farther. She grabbed it, whatever it was and swung it at her mother's head.

A crack. A groan. She swung again and again and again and—

Silence.

The cracking of a skull faded into silence. Like crushing flowers beneath heavy boots. It was easy. And the blood that covered her body was sweet nectar on her skin.

Rapunzel looked up, wiping her eyes and breathing hard.

She was in the bathroom. What? She must have run there in a daze, hitting the walls and her mother's head simultaneously. But it didn't matter how she got there. She was there now, in her sanctuary, her escape. She leaned against the bathtub. Her mother was lying in front of her. Half on white tile, half on laminate flooring. Dead.

Or maybe alive? Dead and alive at the same time. Was it possible?

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. Just as possible as her ever being free. She rolled her eyes over and over again. Trying to establish indifference was like trying to stop her heart.

Stop the clock. Stop the world.

She couldn't be indifferent. Not towards a stranger on the street, a lizard beneath the fridge, or even the monster that lived in the next bedroom. Because she cared too much.

Rapunzel cared about a world she never saw. She pressed her cheek against her painted tower and closed her eyes, dreaming of the outside.

If she had known what the outside was like, would she still have dreamed?

She didn't really know.

She doesn't really know.

Because now she is getting her first glimpse of what's out there. And if this boy is a representation of the world, it might not be that scary.

Brown hair is stuck to his forehead. His skin shines with sweat. Beneath flickering lights, he is unknown to her.

His name is Jack, but she wouldn't know that.

He's filled with so many colors. The lithe body is a canvas. Eyes rimmed with sleepless black. Cheeks smeared with slapped-face red. Tattered blue jacket, frayed brown pants. And his eyes. The color of burnt honey on the frying pan.

Before her dead mother tried to kill her, Rapunzel would fry peanut butter and honey sandwiches on the stove. Drops of honey would fall onto the metal.

Sizzling, hardening, fading.

A hive in the oven would be interesting. Listening to the buzzing and the blistering and the crunching…

Crunching of exoskeletons, crunching of her mother's skull.

"You okay?"

His voice drags her away from her thoughts. Her mental canvas is torn to shreds. He is just a boy now, a scarred and bloodied boy carrying a sniper rifle.

"I…yeah, I guess I am."

He examines the bathroom, leaning back and forth on his heels.

"That's an interesting choice of weapon you've got there." He gestures to the frying pan. "You can kill a walker or two, then fry up some eggs."

A hollow laugh. Kind of cold, kind of icy.

Like the water that often pours out of the showerhead. Rapunzel remembers standing in the bathtub, her hand on the faucet. She shivers in the freezing rain and wishes that she was allowed to use the hot water. But her mother would know. She has to hurry, she only has five minutes left…

"Hello?" The boy is kneeling in front of her. He waves his hand back and forth.

Trying to say hi? Trying to drag her out of her fantasy?

Rapunzel doesn't know. Rapunzel doesn't…

Oh wait, she always cares. Creating indifference is impossible for her.

She rubs her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her limp hand waves back. "Hi…I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was holding it…I just…"

She starts twirling her hair. The frying pan falls from her hand. It strikes the tile and falls against the toilet. Rapunzel flinches at the sound. Tears well and now she's crying. She doesn't want to cry in front of this stranger. But the tears come anyways.

Hot and heavy, they roll down her cheeks. They yank her to the floor. Fingers curl against the bloody tile. She feels the frying pan. Where she used to cook sandwiches and watch the honey burn. It's covered in a different kind of honey now. Red and sticky.

"Hey, it's all right. You're safe now." The boy pulls her up and into his chest.

It's a swift action. An unnatural one in Rapunzel's mind. Human touch makes her nervous. Her mother's sharp nails, the only form of contact she has ever known. And now this boy is hugging her and telling her that everything will be okay.

She feels the fabric of his sweatshirt. Soft, dotted with bits of dried blood. The drawstrings are frayed.

Sometimes, he gives his jacket to his friend, Hiccup. It grows cold at night and Jack is better suited for the chill. So he pulls it over his head and throws it to his friend.

Hiccup will sit in the darkness, beneath the thousands of stars. He'll draw blueprints for new guns and ways to store food while he keeps watch. And he'll chew on the drawstrings while he thinks.

Of course, Rapunzel wouldn't know this. She just twirls the bitten drawstrings like she twirls her hair.

She accepts his hug and buries her face in the bloodstained sweatshirt.

A few minutes of silence. Water drips, the A/C hums, lizards scurry under the refrigerator.

Rapunzel raises her head. "You called them 'walkers' before. What did you mean?"

"That's just our name for them. These…things, or whatever they are."

"She was my mother."

Jack looks at the dead body lying on the threshold. Half on tile, half on laminate. Dead, alive, undead, what is it, really?

Her words prick him. Icicles in his vertebrae. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Rapunzel quickly wipes her tears. "So what are they? And you said 'our' before, do you live with a lot of people?"

"Full of questions, aren't we?" He sits back, blocking her view of the dead walker. "Let's start with something simple. My name's Jack, what's yours?"

"Rapunzel."

"Pretty name. Kinda fancy, but nice. To answer your question, I live with lots of people. We're holed up in the supermarket not too far from here."

"You guys are hiding from something." Rapunzel states this like it's a fact. She pulls her knees up to her chin. "So the whole world must be full of these walkers. At least, the city must be."

"Yeah, the city's overrun with them. But it's nothing we can't handle. " He grins and pats his sniper. "Oh, and what you said before. I can't tell you what they are. No one knows. The dead are walking around, that's all the info I've got."

"I can't believe it…"

"Took me a while to get used to it, too."

She shakes her head. "No, I mean I can't believe you know how to use that thing! It looks so—"

"Awesome?"

"I was gonna say horrifying, but that works." A faint smile, a twirl of her golden hair. Right now, in this moment, everything is perfect. Just talking to another person, another human being that doesn't want to hurt her or tear her down. Even if they're in the middle of a bathroom, the dead walking outside the window, she can still smile.

Because this is new to her. Talking to another human is nice, zombie apocalypse or not.

Jack is talking about all of his "misadventures". The time he raided a pharmacy with his friend, Hiccup, and both of them almost got eaten. The time he was playing target practice with a walker's severed head and splattered brains all over Hiccup. The time he did this, the time he did that.

He's done so much while Rapunzel was busy painting and hiding in the bathtub. His life sounds so exciting to her.

"It's like a game. I just aim, like this." He lies on the floor and adjusts the rifle. "And when I've got them in my crosshairs, I fire."

He's got her in his crosshairs. The gun is unloaded, of course. The ammo is in his back pocket.

"Hey, Punzie. I see you!"

She laughs. "Punzie? I guess that's ok. Guess what? I see you, too."

Much to Jack's surprise, she has crawled closer to the sniper. She looks down the barrel with one eye shut. Wow, she's so…trusting.

They continue to mess around with the gun. Jack shows her what the ammunition looks like and gives her a piece of advice.

"Aim high. If you aim for the head and miss, at least you'll land among the limbs."

They've been having so much fun, neither of them noticed the scratching at the front door. It's been getting louder and louder. And now it has peaked.

Wood splinters and the door opens.

Moaning is heard from the kitchen.

Feet are dragged across the floor.

"Dammit." Jack wishes he had been paying attention.

There really isn't much time. The walkers are slow, but once they've got something, they never let go. He listens hard. There are two, maybe three of them wandering through the apartment.

The fresh blood will draw them close.

Moans turn to growls and then it's there, in the hallway. Jack's ammo is in his back pocket. The gun isn't loaded…crap.

It's a swift action. An unnatural one in Rapunzel's mind. She sees the monster in the hall and her hand goes for the frying pan. Before she can think, her hand has thrown it.

It spirals through the air and hits the walker in the head, where the brain has been exposed and the skull is chipped away.

She's never thrown a frying pan before. Sure, she had the urge to chuck one at her mother plenty of times, but she never did. Now she's done it, and it was a perfect shot.

The walker falls to the floor. Pink stuff is splattered on the wall. A new kind of paint.

Jack is staring at her, his mouth wide.

Rapunzel shrugs. "I aimed high."

"You sure did…"

She gets off the floor and ties her hair back with the ribbon she always keeps in her pocket. The ribbon she found on her windowsill one day.

Sitting inside with the window open, the breeze had carried a purple ribbon to her. It was tangled on the withered plants.

Standing in the bathroom, she ties it around her ponytail. "Come on, Jack. I hear more of those guys in the kitchen. Just let me grab my frying pan and we can get them together."

"Sounds like a plan." Grinning, he takes the ammo out of his back pocket. "I've got a feeling Merida is gonna like you."

"Merida?"

"She's another one of my friends. I'll introduce you when we get back to the supermarket." The rifle clicks. "Ready?"

"Ready."

They stand for a moment, arm against arm, poised to fight. Then they sneak into the hallway on tiptoe. Jack has his sniper rifle, Rapunzel grabs her frying pan from the walker's cracked head.

Jack whispers as he readies his gun. "This will probably alert the rest of them that we're here. Get ready to make a run for it."

Rapunzel nods and touches his shoulder. This is new, initiating human contact. Her lips are next to his ear.

"Aim high, Jack."

He smiles, those burnt honey eyes alive with fire. "You said it, Punzie. Aim high."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, a surprise update! :D I decided to try and make this a multi-chapter story since the feedback was pretty good. Merida's got quite the mouth in this haha, so you've been warned. Just a refresher, "walker" is the term for a zombie. I got it from The Walking Dead, and I'm currently writing a 15 page paper on The Walking Dead video game so maybe that's why I felt compelled to update this? Haha xD I don't know...I'm crazy...**

**And now a little explanation for some things in the story: they're using bows and arrows because obviously they don't make as much noise as a gun and won't attract attention, just in case some of you are like "why don't they just use guns?" So yeah...just wanted to clarify haha. **

**Anyways, enjoy and please review!**

**-Alice :)**

* * *

Aim high but never miss. That is Merida's creed. Index taps the ready string, her fingertip scabbed. It's been pricked with knives and arrow heads. When she checks for sharpness, the metal always pulls through. She'll smile and suck on her fingers.

The medic doesn't even bother. There are worse things out there. Broken heads full of dripping pink stuff, severed arms and mile long bites.

If it's a bite, don't bother.

Never bother.

Because they are doomed.

Her bandaged fingertips mean nothing. Sometimes Hiccup will wrap them for her. Gauze hangs from his mouth. He glances up, the stars reflected in his eyes.

Count the constellations. Merida won't look up anymore. Space tempts her and she won't be able to look away. If she looks up, she'll never come back down. So she finds a replacement. Eyes the size of gun barrels. Unloaded. Hiccup tries not to fight.

Not because he can't.

But because he won't.

That is what she loves about him. How he always volunteers to keep guard in the dead of night. And even though he's a horrible shot, he sits just outside the barrier, silent and drawing in his sketchbook. And the moon, that big wonderful bastard that watches them and never helps, it looks down, painting the pages white. Deep in darkness. Sitting on the horizon. Hic breathes mist into the air. Dead eyes appear in the dead of night. He'll activate his automatic crossbow. The device assembled next to him. It's angled just the right way.

Hitting their rotted heads.

Just right.

Just in time.

All he has to do is aim it the right way.

Like Merida, he always aims high. She smiles whenever she thinks about him.

She's smiling now. Slightly. It's hot today, the sun gnashing at her. All those red curls heating up like they're in a microwave. One of those old fashioned microwaves with the coils that spark and sizzle. No one uses microwaves now. Not since the "outbreak".

Merida hates it when people say that. Like everything happened at once. Like they all woke up and the world had gone to hell.

No, no you dumbasses. It wasn't like that. It happened so slowly that no one noticed until too late. That's how all these things happpen. Orange mornings and black dusks came and went. Sitting on the couch, Merida would watch the television broadcasts. Death, sickness, chaos…how long ago was that?

A day, a month, a year? Maybe two?

"Who gives a shit?" She grits her teeth and lets an arrow fly. It hits a walker right between the eyes.

"Nice shot, bitch."

"Huh?" Whipping around, her hair flies every which way. But when she sees who it is, she just rolls her eyes and laughs. "You gotta be careful what you say. I almost shot an arrow into your neck."

Astrid smirks. Blonde bangs stuck to sweaty skin. "I knew that would rile you up. But seriously though, nice shot."

"Thanks." Another arrow. Pull back, feel the tight string, hear the creaking bow. "It's the best place to hit them, in my opinion."

"Why's that?"

Eyes narrow as she grits her teeth. "Because…because when they fall forward, it drives the arrow in deeper. And then there's no doubt about it. They're definitely dead this time."

Snap! It goes whizzing through the air. Bull's eye.

Astrid's laugh echoes across the city. She gets a swift kick from Merida.

"Shut it! You wanna get their attention?"

"My bad." She chokes the laughter down. "It's just, damn, girl, you're insane."

Merida's laugh is hollow. "And you're not?"

Astrid shrugs. "Point taken. Now lay off it for a while. I want to drop some of them myself."

Today is Wednesday, which means that it's their day to keep watch. Stalking the flat rooftops, bows in hand. They're standing atop the supermarket. Picking the walkers off is a sort of game. Merida's up by twenty.

Her jeans are tucked into her boots. Dried blood on the mid-thighs from all the times she's wiped her hands on them. Her clothes never change. Not like some of the others that trade shirts and pants just for fun.

Astrid isn't one of those people either. Unbuttoned flannel and sports bra has always worked for her. She can rip off the outer layer and tie it around her waist. Especially on days like these, when the sun is a demon's eye. She double knots it and readies her bow.

"Time to release some of my pent up anger."

"Who're you mad at this time?"

Astrid rolls her eyes. "Geez, it's not like I'm always mad. But if you must know, it's your dumbass boyfriend."

The arrow misses its target by a hair. Merida's face is bright red. "Hiccup is not my boyfriend."

"Who said anything about Hiccup?" That grin is back, making her look all evil.

"You did."

"No, I never said his name."

"Whatever, Astrid. Just do your job, why don't ya?"

"Fine, fine." She sighs, taking her place next to Merida. "And just so you know, it's a good thing you 'don't like him' because he really is a dumbass."

Snap! Another shot. This time hard and fast. Her teeth grind together. She can't let anyone know that he makes her smile or that she watches the stars in his eyes. "Does it look I care? He's just some guy, like all the other guys."

"Good to know." Snap! "Look, I got one."

"Nice."

Snap!

"But like I was saying, he's stupid." Snap! "Aren't you gonna ask why?"

"Nope."

Snap!

"I'm still telling you. He's a dumbass because he volunteered to go on a supply run."

Sna—

"Wait, what?" Merida lowers her bow. The arrow tumbles into the street below. "He volunteered? But that's—"

"Suicide?" A sideways glance, squinting cause the sun's in her eyes. "Yeah, Mer, it's insane. Two people go, one of them usually dies. And he's not the best fighter…"

"I know that." Merida spits the words out, her teeth bared. Groaning, she slings her bow around her body and gathers up the remaining arrows.

"Where're you going? You can't flake out on me, Mer."

"Shut up. There's a few dozen walkers, they're slow as hell, you'll be fine." No room in the quiver, she'll have to carry one. "I swear, Astrid, if you tell anyone I left, I'll murder you in your sleep. Got that?"

"I believe you." Shakes her head, laughing. "Oh God, I believe you. Just don't die out there, ok, you stupid bitch?"

"Not planning on it." Merida gives a mock salute, clenches the arrow between her teeth, and runs for it. Down the ladder, off the rooftop. It won't be hard getting into the rest of the city. Barricades made of metal chairs and old, striped sofas. Fences made from rotting wood. No one stops her. They're all inside the supermarket. Kids playing in the small area around the building. 'Safe' from the monsters outside. A red and yellow swing set moves in the wind.

Merida's gone. Her planetarium is in danger. His eyes must be so wide right now, so scared…

* * *

Hiccup is definitely scared. Lying motionless on the concrete. The other guy is dead. Some guy with brown hair he didn't even know. How could he not? They all live in the same place; sleep on the same floor…

Shh, walkers are coming.

He remembers not to breathe or think. The office building is swarming with them now. He and faceless guy had burst in, then a walker had burst in as well. Of course they were already there. Wandering the floors, looking for fresh meat. Stupid Hiccup and his stupid gun. It went off before he could stop himself. Others came in, feet dragging , mouths moaning. Air smelled like dead possums in midsummer. Faceless guy died because of…

No, not because of him. It was an accident, just an accident.

He whispers into the ground. "I'm sorry…"

Because he tried to save the guy. He really did. But grey hands grabbed from all sides. Blood splattered. Screams painted the whole room red. Hiccup ran. Fingers wrapped around his ankle. He fell, tumbling down the stairs. Adrenaline forced him to his feet. Then he burst out, just as he had burst in. And he saw sunlight, thick and warm like blood. Behind the office, he collapsed. Falling down the stairs broke a rib and made his head bleed.

Nothing sees him. Nothing at all. They're inside, feasting on so-and-so.

They're all blind to Hiccup.

Blind as he lies face down, staring at a four-leaf clover poking out of a crack in the sidewalk.

Blind as he staggers to his feet. Feeling cold for no reason at all. A broken freezer filled with frost that stings.

Blind as he limps away, blood pouring from his face. He rips a piece of fabric from his shirt. The flannel is rough. He tries to wash it in the rain puddles every Sunday morning. It'll make a good bandage for his head.

Blind as he walks and thinks about skateboarding in the low heat. He used to love to skateboard, before everything went to hell. Cicadas buzz in his left ear. Just the left, an accident with a homemade grenade made him half deaf.

Blind…blazing suns…lightning like the scars on his body…fading into blank pages…

Thoughts are disjointed as he walks home. Home…more like a supermarket. But where is he really going? Dragging his feet across the blacktop. It's cold but it's hot. The sun tries to eat him raw. A black dog runs by. Let's call him Toothless, look at those empty jaws. Hiccup smiles at him, pressing his palm against his forehead. Blood is so thick, it sticks to his eyebrows. He thinks of the canned Campbell's soup waiting for him in the supermarket. A special treat. He wants to share it with Merida.

But you know what would be really nice? A hot dog. Ketchup would taste really good right now, slathered all over and smelling like fresh ice.

He falls to his knees in the middle of the road. Dark buildings all around with their blinds pulled tight. He knows all about tightness. The tightness of fear and of love, the knot in his stomach whenever he wakes up in the dead of night. Dreaming deep tonight would be nice. Nice dreams full of peaceful times…and her, Merida…

Hiccup gasps, his vision blurring. Black dots at the corners of his eyes. Each second, they're getting bigger and bigger. No, not now. Not here in the middle of the street with walkers prowling. But where are they? This is odd. It's weird that they're not here. An empty stretch of asphalt, no one. Just Hiccup lying in the middle of it all. He rolls onto his back, chest heaving. Blood pools around his head. Maybe the walkers know he's already dead, and they want live meat.

It's so freakin' hot.

Blacktop turning red from a sun that's still trying to eat him raw. Pink skin rubbed down, meat hanging in a locker. The black dog goes running by again. Run, you stupid ass dog. They'll eat you, too. The flannel shirt isn't thick enough, the blood keeps flowing. Death in the middle of a walker infested city, great.

A perfect end to a perfect day.

He stands up and keeps walking. Dark buildings, shuttered windows, stray black dogs with their eyes not quite screwed on right.

And then they're there and he's thinking, "Oh, this is where they went."

He's in the middle of a square. Some square, not Times…something else. The walkers crowd around a group of screaming people. Probably travelers from another city, too slow or too loud.

Walkers must have been drawn here by the fresh kill. Using people as live bait so others can make their escape. Convenient. Hiccup cocks his head, eyes hazy. Poor people. It must really hurt, to die.

So Hiccup, alone, stands and watches. Unable to breathe or think. A hand grabs his.

She's creeping up behind him, eyes wide. A whisper. "Hiccup, come on. Hiccup, let's go."

He turns around. "Merida?"

"Who else, dumbass?"


End file.
